by Val Wood
‘Well, ma’am, I could have told you that,’ Dora proclaimed when Beatrix mentioned to her that she could possibly be pregnant, hence the sickness. ‘My ma was just the same.’ She gazed over Beatrix’s shoulder into mid-air as she buttoned up her gown and said, ‘Should we call the doctor to confirm, ma’am, before you give Mr Dawley the news?’
How much has she guessed or discerned about my marriage, Beatrix wondered? She has been very protective of me since that so-called fall, and I trust her completely; she’s very discreet, and I know she won’t discuss my condition with anyone until Charles has been told.
‘I think so,’ she answered. ‘If I write a note, will you slip out and ask Mags where he lives? You can take the trap if you like, and if it’s nearby perhaps you could call? That would be a nice little outing for you, wouldn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes, it would. Do you trust me with the pony, ma’am? I’ve only ever had a go on the milk cart when I was young. I’ll ask Aaron to get him ready, shall I?’
Beatrix laughed. ‘You’re only young now, Dora,’ she said.
‘Yes, I know, miss – ma’am, I mean – but my ma always said I had an old head on young shoulders.’
Beatrix laughed again. She felt much better already. ‘I think your mother was right, Dora. Mothers usually are.’ She looked pensive for a second or two. ‘I wonder if I will be when I’m a mother.’
‘I expect so,’ Dora answered wryly. ‘Shall I ask Mrs Gordon to make a list for the grocer so I can give it to him whilst I’m out?’
‘Yes,’ Beatrix said vaguely. ‘But that isn’t her role. I need a cook and a housemaid – two, probably. Mrs Gordon has come as housekeeper. I wonder if Mrs Parkin would come as cook. She’s a very good cook and I’d so much prefer someone I know. Will you ask Mrs Gordon to come and speak to me when she has a minute? We must sort things out soon.’
Within the week, Mrs Parkin had agreed to try out as cook. It was the first time she had been offered a full-time position and she seemed to have grown at least two inches taller because of it. Mrs Gordon advertised for two housemaids and took on one of them. The local doctor, Dr Brewer, came to introduce himself and confirmed that Beatrix was expecting a child, and gave the approximate date of birth some time in April, or possibly May.
Beatrix wrote to Charles asking if he could come home fairly soon as she had something important to tell him, and addressed the letter to him at the bank, marking it personal and confidential. She wrote a much longer one to her mother, giving her the news and telling her that Charles didn’t know yet.
Charles arrived at Old Stone Hall three days later and greeted the news that she was expecting a child enthusiastically. ‘Riches!’ he declared, making her own joy sink like a stone as she realized that his delight was quite different from hers. The anticipation of a son to bring him the full inheritance was the pleasure he was waiting for, not the child itself.
‘And if the child is a girl,’ she said softly. ‘Will you still be pleased, even though you will have to wait longer for your son?’
He gazed at her and frowned. ‘If it’s a girl I shall be hugely disappointed in you, Beatrix. A son is what I need, and,’ he said, wagging his finger at her, ‘I need him soon. The years are moving swiftly on; the damned stupid rules laid down regarding the inheritance mean that we haven’t got long, so watch out, because otherwise you’ll be in a constant state of pregnancy.’
He took himself off to introduce himself to the housekeeper, as Dora had opened the front door to him on his arrival, and to ask Mrs Gordon for a jug of coffee to revive him after his journey, leaving Beatrix stunned. She wondered how she could possibly have been manipulated into such a position. I can’t give him a son to order. We don’t have a choice about whether it’s a boy or girl; doesn’t he understand that? I dare not tell him. He’s so very touchy about his manhood.
He gave no indication of this kind of behaviour when I first met him, she thought; in fact he seems very like his father when he and Mrs Dawley came to dine and Charles chastised him for his language and conduct. Now he is behaving in the very same manner. Is this what wealth does? Does it mean that you can run roughshod over anyone, including your own wife?
She was shaken and dazed and yet knew that she mustn’t let him see it; one small chink in the armour which she must wrap around herself for protection, or one hint of vulnerability, would without doubt make him feel stronger. She didn’t know how she had come to this conclusion, but it was what she now believed. Physically, she couldn’t protect herself, but whilst she was carrying his child he wouldn’t risk any harm’s coming to her.
But I believe I am his match intellectually and logically, she mused, and I must use that without his realizing. She sighed, feeling downhearted. I was excited by the thought of a good marriage. Foolishly, I thought that love would grow. How gullible I was, and how misled. Of course a miracle could happen, and if I produce a son Charles might become tender and loving, but I’m not sure I believe in miracles, and we simply do not have a choice when it comes to the biological gender of a child. I could almost wish for a girl just to spite him, but I would fear the consequences.
She got up from her chair and wandered to the window. The grass was long and at the bottom of the meadow, near the wood, someone was cutting it – who was it? Aaron! Aaron was scything the grass with long, smooth strokes; he’d done it before, she guessed from his surety in using the scythe. What a useful young fellow he is, and how lucky we are to have him.
Suddenly she felt brighter, though a lump came to her throat. The sky was blue with only a few wisps of cloud; she could smell the newly cut grass and could hear and see birds in flight as they swooped and caught the insects thrown up from the scythe.
I belong here, she thought. This is my home now. Here is where I will bring up my family. Male or female, I’ll teach my children to be kind and loving to others and not to think that money is the answer to misfortune, but often the cause of it. She sighed. As for Charles, I can do nothing about him; he is steeped in avarice, there is no other description. Perhaps he was once caring and compassionate, I have seen glimpses of it, but that person is not here. He has gone and I don’t know where.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The weather had been sunny, with occasional light showers of rain in the evening which refreshed the earth and the plants and shrubs that Beatrix had bought or begged from neighbours and Aaron had planted wherever she indicated. She had never cultivated a single plant in her life, but she asked questions or looked up information in various catalogues and went with her instinct, crossing her fingers that what she selected would grow strong for the following year.
Many invitations to attend luncheons and summer garden parties had been received, and once the sickness had abated Beatrix had attended many of them alone, with Dora driving her in the trap, and excusing Charles’s absence due to pressure of business; when he was at home, he accepted the invitations and was charming to their hosts and attentive to Beatrix, insisting on her taking his arm and finding her a chair on every occasion.
In fact she didn’t need any mollycoddling, feeling fit and healthy and enjoying the excellent cooking of Mrs Parkin, who was in her element, particularly as she was able to choose new kitchen utensils, pots and pans and serving dishes, and was given a girl just out of school as a scullery maid to clean up after her and tend the fire in the range.
As late summer drew on, Beatrix thought fit to invite just a few select guests that she had particularly taken to; Rosie Stokes was one, whose eccentric mother had been the first to send an invitation to Beatrix. Two other young ladies from Brough arrived accompanied by a lady’s maid who was carried off by Dora to help with the tea things, for they were to sit on the chairs on the terrace at the front of the house, near to the new fountain, which was much admired.
‘How lovely. Very reminiscent of Italy,’ Rosie said in her loud clear voice. ‘Such a clever idea bringing something so artistic into the heart of Yorkshire. But your husband i
sn’t a Yorkshireman, is he, Beatrix? Is he well travelled?’
‘Charles is indeed well travelled,’ Beatrix replied, ‘but it was my idea to have the fountain and the statue. I admire sculptures for their grace and artistry; this is a copy of the Roman Apollo.’
Margaret, one of the young women from Brough, giggled behind her hand. ‘He is very well endowed, is he not? I’m sure it can’t be taken from life!’
Beatrix was silenced by her immodesty, the other young woman gasped and hid her face, but Rosie simply looked at them and then at Beatrix and raised her eyebrows in ridicule.
‘Silly girls,’ she murmured aside to Beatrix so the others didn’t hear. ‘What did they expect? I made sure I knew all I needed to know about the male anatomy in case I was asked to marry any of them,’ and then she casually added, as if the remark had been of no consequence, ‘I must tell Mama of your taste and style. She might want to ask your advice on decorating the drawing room. Papa says she must have it done soon and get rid of the grubby wallpaper and shredded carpets for fear no one will ever visit us again.’
By October the Little Stone House was fully decorated and everyone moved in there until the main house was finished. Workmen with scaffolding and ladders had been brought in to reach the very high ceilings, clean the oak panels in the hall and polish the staircase and banisters, and all that was left was to finish and furnish the bedrooms on the top floor which were not yet needed, though Beatrix had earmarked one sunny room at the front of the house for a nursery, and the smaller room off it for a nursery maid.
She dared not think of the expense that had been entailed, but she had noted the cost of every single thing that had been bought and shown it to Charles whenever he came home and he hadn’t turned a hair, but simply remarked that it was a pity she couldn’t have worked in banking.
Not that I would have wanted to, she had mused after the remark, but why couldn’t I? Because I’m a woman?
At the beginning of December, when they had moved back into the main house, she said to Charles she would like to invite her parents to stay at Christmas. ‘They’ll be lonely at home, especially as Thomas won’t be there either; he’s abroad again, but even if he were not it’s doubtful that he would be given leave.’
‘Ask them by all means,’ he agreed. ‘But I won’t ask mine. I put up with them during the year’ – implying that he saw them often – ‘and I certainly don’t want to entertain them over Christmas.’
He was wondering what he should do about Maria. His place should be with Beatrix, especially their first Christmas together, for people would talk if he were absent, but previously he had always spent Christmas Day and Boxing Day with Maria. A dilemma, he thought. Dare I suggest she should go home to Spain and see her mother?
When he returned to London, he put the proposal to her. He hadn’t yet told her that Beatrix was expecting his child, but now he took the opportunity to do so and anxiously awaited her reaction.
She was silent and looked sad, and he gathered her into his arms, nuzzling into her neck. She didn’t respond, and turned away from him. ‘No!’ she said. ‘I will stay here. My mother will have to be at home. My father will expect it. It is his only ’oliday. I will stay here and go to Mass. I will ask Bianca if she will come and stay with me. She too will be abandoned and alone, just like me.’
He flinched, but realized that it was true.
‘You will come home for Three Kings Day in January,’ she told him firmly. ‘That is when we will celebrate.’
What else could he do? Three Kings Day was a traditional festival for Spaniards, who gave out presents then to celebrate the coming of the three wise men with their gifts for the Christ child; in England the occasion was celebrated as Epiphany. He would have to tell Beatrix that there was a crisis at the bank.
‘All right,’ he said, kissing the top of her head. ‘We’ll have a special day of our own and I will bring you a gift. What would you like?’
Maria thought for a moment. ‘A gold bracelet set with diamonds.’
He took a breath. Maria knew her worth; that was for certain. She had a stack of jewellery that he had given her over the years yet she hardly ever wore any of it. He nodded. ‘If the child is a son you will have a necklace to match.’
She pursed her lips. ‘If it is a girl it can be gold only. I am not a greedy person.’
My first Christmas in my own home! Beatrix’s spirits rose as the holiday came nearer and she felt more and more joyful. Neville Dawley’s boudoir piano had been cleaned and tuned and stood in splendour in the drawing room, and she couldn’t help but run her fingers across the keys each time she came into the room and wonder if he had ever played it. New furniture, beds and bedding had arrived and were in situ in the main house, and Beatrix had looked for but not yet gathered holly, mistletoe and other greenery and had asked Edward if he would dig up a fir tree from the wood.
She had seen one the right size and he’d said he would dig it up with the roots intact so that they could replant it after Christmas and keep it growing healthily for the following year. Her parents were arriving on the twenty-third and she wanted to decorate the house so that it would be filled with Christmas candles and the scent of fir when they entered, though she wouldn’t dress the tree until Christmas Eve.
To increase her delight, her mother had written to say that Thomas might be with them, as they had received a letter from him to say he was coming home.
The Newbys were giving them a home-reared goose and Mrs Parkin, on Beatrix’s instructions, had ordered a leg of pork from the butcher, for Mr Fawcett was particularly fond of pork with apple sauce. She had made a Christmas pudding earlier in the autumn and had constantly fed it with brandy since. Beatrix had worried that Cook, as she was now known, would miss out on her own family Christmas dinner and had suggested that all the staff, including Dora and Mrs Gordon, should eat together at the large table in the kitchen, and that Aaron and Mrs Parkin’s other children might like to come too. They had all gladly agreed and a turkey was ordered for their table.
‘I hope we’ve ordered enough food,’ Beatrix confessed to her mother on her arrival. Mrs Fawcett had bravely travelled alone on an earlier train, as her husband had decided to wait at home for Thomas, who didn’t know that they were to spend Christmas in Yorkshire and wouldn’t be in London until the evening.
‘I’m sure you’ll have enough food for an army,’ Mrs Fawcett murmured when she had explored the larder and the cold room where a large chicken, a brace of pheasant which someone had left hanging outside the kitchen door, the goose and a turkey were all now hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Jellies were setting in their moulds on the top shelf of the food safe, whilst on the lower shelves were pork pies and French-style patés that Mrs Parkin called potted meat, which she had made by her own hand. ‘I have never seen so much food for one family.’
‘It won’t be wasted,’ Beatrix told her. ‘We’ll share it with those who have very little; Edward – Newby,’ she added, so as not to appear too familiar, ‘has told me of several such families.’
Her mother lifted her head in interest. ‘That’s Mags’s son, is it not?’
‘Yes,’ Beatrix answered casually. ‘You’ve met him. The Newby family have been very helpful. Perfect neighbours,’ she said, and then added, ‘Come along, Mother. We’re not supposed to be in here. The kitchen is Mrs Parkin’s domain.’
It was lovely to be in the sitting room with just her mother for company, and they sat companionably by the fire after supper and chatted about other Christmastimes until her mother asked when Charles would arrive.
‘I – erm, I’m not sure,’ Beatrix faltered. ‘You know how it is with banks; having to be sure everything is finished before closing for the holidays.’
And that was the rub, because of course her mother did know, having lived with her father for so many years. She had always known to a minute when he would be home from the bank, and now Beatrix felt her questioning gaze on her.
‘H
e will be here in time for Christmas,’ she murmured with a certainty she didn’t feel; how would she excuse him to her parents if he should be late? ‘It will depend on the trains, perhaps; you know how they don’t always run to time.’
Her mother, without conveying any sign that she was perturbed by Beatrix’s anxiety, suddenly smiled and nodded and said brightly, ‘Wouldn’t it be amusing if Charles and your father and Thomas all travelled together?’
Which was exactly what did happen, and having gone through to Hull they arrived in a hired carriage close on midnight at the same time as a company of carollers, who had begun to sing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ to rouse the occupants.
‘Have we food and drink for them?’ Beatrix was asking anxiously. She rang the bell for Dora, who reassured her at once.
‘It’s all right, ma’am. Cook was expecting them. She’s heating up the Wassail bowl and we’re to let them in at the end of the first carol. I’ve brought your shawl. Would you like to open the door, ma’am?’
Beatrix was overcome by emotion as she stood by the door to welcome them. The Newby family were there, all singing with great gusto, Luke Newby in a deep bass, leaning on a stick, his wife Mags slightly behind in time, and Edward standing at the back with the other villagers, men, women and children.
‘How lovely,’ her mother was whispering behind her. ‘And look who’s here,’ she added as the carriage drew up and first Charles, then Beatrix’s father and brother stepped down. ‘How perfect.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Beatrix said softly; ‘it is.’ She smiled to see her brother, so tall and handsome in his uniform, and her gaze moved on to her father and Charles, who seemed surprised to see so many gathered there; but then her attention strayed to the group of carollers and she saw Edward Newby amongst them, his eyes on hers and holding them until she looked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
‘Such a splendid start to Christmas,’ Emily Fawcett enthused. ‘The very best I’ve ever experienced.’
